Page 28 of Something About September

“James, put that down!” Marion said, laughing. “A carving knife is not a way to welcome guests; it’s not Halloween yet!”

James chuckled and set the knife on a sideboard, his face lighting up. “Becky! I’m thrilled you’re here. It’s so good to see you. Cort has been telling me what a taskmaster you are.”

Cort laughed. “I have not,” he said. “I was telling him I was the one who suggested you spend an entire day rooting through piles of reclaimed lumber.”

“Which was so much more fun than it sounds,” Rebecca said, popping an apple cheddar bundle into her mouth. “Kingman’s is amazing. I don’t even need anything else, and I want to go back.”

“How’s the renovation coming along, Cort?” James asked.

“Really well, Mr. Calloway. It’s all very simple. Despite what certain townspeople would have you believe.”

“I keep telling him to call me James,” James said to Rebecca with a wink. “Makes me feel ancient when the kids I used to coach still call me mister.”

“You coached Cort?” Rebecca asked, surprised.

“Little League, summer of ’08,” James confirmed. “Cort had the best batting average on the team. Could have played baseball if football hadn’t stolen him away.”

“Different lifetime,” Cort said with a smile.

“Can I get you two something to drink?” Marion asked, already moving to the bar fridge.

“Actually, Cort, I have something special for you to try. I used some of those jalapeños you gave me from your garden to brew a new jalapeño-apple hard cider!” James paused. “If it takes off, I’ll call it Calloway’s Jal-apple-no.”

“Possible emphasis on the no,” Sabrina said with a good-natured warning smile. “It’s very spicy. And the name could use some work.”

“I can handle it, James,” Cort said, while James beamed. “Happy to do such important work for the community.”

“Good man, good man. Rebecca, would you like to try one, too?”

“Do you have anything maybe…not as spicy?” Rebecca ventured.

“Red wine for Rebecca!” Sabrina called out.

At dinner, Rebecca found herself seated between Cort and Sabrina, with Marion at the head of the table and James at the foot. The dinner table was even more laden with food than the appetizer table had been. There was the promised brisket with various sauces—honey mustard, homemade barbecue, a rich gravy—and Sabrina’s crispy roasted potatoes, herb-doused roasted vegetables, corn bread still warm from the oven, and a colorful salad featuring sliced apples, walnuts, and cranberries.

“Before we eat,” James said, raising his glass of apple wine, “a toast. To good friends, family both old and new, and to autumn’s harvest. May we always appreciate its bounty.”

“To autumn’s harvest,” everyone echoed, glasses clinking around the table. Cort touched her glass gently with his own and caught her eye, and as she smiled back at him, she felt the light sense of joy she had experienced on the way to the Calloways’ begin to return.

—

The table was littered with empty plates and balled-up napkins when James rose and said he had a surprise. He soon returned, balancing a stack of leatherbound photo albums. “Turning our attic into a bedroom meant we had to relocate a lot of boxes. Marion and I were going through them together but thought you young people might also enjoy them. Half of these photos are of you lot, and there are so many good memories in here.”

Rebecca opened the album she had been handed to find photographs from Bramley Hollow’s Autumn Festivals over the years. Apple bobbing, pie judging, hayrides, and harvest dances. She smiled at a snapshot of herself and Sabrina as teenagers, proudly displaying the blue ribbons pinned to their sweaters.

“Junior baking competition,” Sabrina supplied. “We used Lenore’s caramel apple tart recipe, remember?”

“ ‘We’ is generous,” Rebecca said. “You were the natural, and I was just along for the ride.”

Rebecca turned another page, and Sabrina squealed. “The Apple Blossom Choir! I remember this year. We sang ‘Helplessness Blues’ by the Fleet Foxes. That was your idea, wasn’t it, Rebecca? And it was perfect. I can still remember all the words.” And she sang a few bars in her pretty voice. At the final, poignant bars of the song, Rebecca felt Cort’s eyes on hers. She smiled back at him, then found herself unable to look away for a long moment. Beside her, Sabrina cleared her throat softly, and Rebecca turned another page—and froze. It was an image of her in the green satin dress she had worn to the spring dance, senior year. She stared at the photo of herself standing by the Calloways’ staircase, dark hair swept into loose curls, hope bright in her eyes. Hope she now knew had been misplaced.

She snapped the album closed, but not before Cort caught a glimpse. “Hey,” he said, a small frown on his face, his voice low. “I don’t remember you being at that dance.”

“I didn’t stay long,” Rebecca said, her voice tight. “Wasn’t feeling well.”

Sabrina glanced up, meeting Rebecca’s gaze across the table. There was a quick, silent exchange of understanding. “Yeah. Stomach flu. She missed the whole thing. Not even sure how we got her out the door.”

Cort nodded, though he didn’t seem entirely convinced. Meanwhile, Rebecca’s face was getting hot, and this time she knew she couldn’t fight it. When Marion suggested putting a pie in the oven to warm, Rebecca insisted on doing it and rushed into the kitchen. But the kitchen was too warm for her now-flaming cheeks, and her racing heart made her feel almost panicked. She put the pie in the oven, then turned and walked toward the side porch door. She opened it and stepped outside.